


Crushed

by JuliaJekyll



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Oral Sex, Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: John can't stop thinking about Paul, so he calls in some...ahem, help.





	

John stared up at the ceiling, his vision swimming even more than usual, making him feel blurry and blind and oddly dreamy. Inside his head, there was only blessed calm, a haze that had descended over his senses. He'd reached that sweet spot of drunkenness at which one's problems fade into a dim backdrop and one is able simply to feel the most pleasant, numbing effects of the alcohol. 

This, unfortunately for John, is also the stage at which the drinker conveniently forgets that, when it comes to booze, there is something to be said for quitting while one is ahead. Some alcohol is good, tipsy logic decides, so more must obviously be better. Every drinker is susceptible to this mentality, regardless of how much past experience they've had to dictate otherwise. 

And so, John pulled himself into a sitting position, relishing the way it rather felt like his body was moving through water, as if he might not quite be able to hold himself upright. He was slow, off-balance, uncoordinated; but everything was so nice and fuzzy that he wasn't particularly bothered about moving faster. It wasn't like the liquor was far away, after all. 

John reached out and curled his hand around the neck of the bottle, and even his fingers felt somehow dull, as if he'd overused them and now they needed to be sharpened, like knives, so that he could feel properly. No matter; they'd still do the job he was asking of them. He lifted the bottle and poured himself another shot, then kicked it back swiftly and collapsed onto his bed again, mind awash in liquid tranquility.

It was a bit strange, though, drinking alone. It hadn't started out that way. He'd taken the first couple of shots in a bar, one filled with large, intimidating men and twenty-something waitresses with rolled-up sleeves who he should have found attractive but hadn't. 

Then he'd started thinking about Paul, and...

John shook his head, or tried to. He wasn't actually sure what the motion would look like to an outside observer. His neck seemed to slosh from side to side like water in a too-full glass as he took hold of the bottle again, wanting to clear his head once more. 

The next shot, however, much to John's dismay, only served to amplify his feelings, which had taken an abrupt turn for the negative. Frowning at the sudden loss of enjoyment, he lay back down, and a moment later was hit by the most acute wave of loneliness he'd ever felt. 

_Well,_ he thought sardonically, _that didn't take long._

Suddenly, he couldn't stand being alone. 

He wanted Paul. A big fucking surprise that was; John always wanted Paul. He knew he could call him, knew that if he begged him to come over, Paul would oblige, because that was just the kind of friend he was. However, John was afraid that if he did get Paul to come to him, he'd smother the man with drunken, clingy affection and sloppy, dragging kisses as soon as he walked in the door, and then it would be bloody hard, even more so than it was already, to hide his real feelings for his friend. There was only so much drunkenness would excuse. 

John reached for the phone but didn't pick it up, just let his hand rest on top of it. Who else could he call? There was only one answer, really, and he squinted at the numbers, entering the proper ones with as much careful precision as he could manage in his current state. 

As the phone began to ring, it flashed through his mind that, if he'd made a mistake in his dialing, either because he was drunk or because of his piss-poor eyesight or a combination of the two, it'd probably be a sign from the universe that he'd be better off just putting the phone down and continuing to suffer alone until he woke up with a pounding headache, a painfully full bladder, and a heaviness weighing his entire body down, the way he usually did after a night of drinking. The number, however, had apparently been correct, because the phone rang only twice before a crisp voice answered: “Hello?” 

“Brian,” John slurred, his voice hoarse and cracked, “I need you.” 

“John?” Brian sounded worried. “John, is that you? Where are you? What's happened?” 

“Please, Bri,” was all John could say. “Please.” He hardly even remembered what, exactly, he was begging for, but he felt as if his life, or his sanity at the very least, depended on Brian figuring it out. 

“John, I need you to tell me where you are.” 

“'m at home, Eppy. Need you 'ere. With me. Please.” 

“I'll be over as soon as I can.”

* * *

 

Seconds after hanging up the phone (he wasn't even entirely sure he'd managed to put it down in its proper place) John registered that he badly needed to pee. It seemed to take him far too long to stumble to the toilet and relieve himself. After he was done, he embarked on a laborious walk back to his bedroom, leaning on the wall the whole way. His sense of time was off, and he had no way of knowing how long it would take Brian to get to him, since he hadn't bothered to ask him precisely where he was or how soon he could leave.

In the absence of any better way to pass the time, John lay back down on his bed and resumed staring at the ceiling. He took yet another shot of whiskey (because, while the liquor might turn on thoughts he didn't want, he knew that sobering up would be worse still) and waited for Brian. 

His mind quickly began to wander, despite his best efforts to contain it, and soon all he could see were elusive, tantalizing fantasies of Paul in bed with him, his full, beautiful lips sucking at John's neck while his brilliant, gifted hands roamed over John's body. He imagined Paul leaning close to his face, breathing warmly into his ear, whispering in that gorgeous bloody voice of his that he wanted John, that he loved him, before finally connecting their mouths, licking and tasting...God, John needed it. He needed a body here with him...preferably Paul's, but anyone's would do...anyone warm who would let him taste their lips and fuck them into the mattress so that he could at least pretend they were Paul...

John was hard as a rock and nearly panting with desire when he heard loud, insistent knocking on the door. He shouted “'m coming!” and slid off the bed, using the wall to support himself while he got to his feet. His drunken state, combined with his raging erection, made walking awkward, but he made it to the door and threw it open to reveal Brian Epstein, dressed immaculately as usual in a suit that John wanted to rip off him, a concerned expression on his handsome face. 

“John,” Brian greeted, his eyes taking in John's state, seeming to rest for a beat too long on his crotch before moving swiftly back up to his face. “What's wrong? Why-” 

John cut Brian off by grabbing him and kissing him full on the mouth. 

Brian's body stiffened, but John could swear he felt him start to kiss back, just slightly, before he pushed John away and stared at him, flushing deeply. “John,” he stammered, then cleared his throat. “What are you...” 

“Need you,” John moaned, trying to latch onto Brian again. “I want you, Eppy. Can I have you, please? I know you want me...know you 'ave...” 

“John,” Brian said, moving at last into the apartment and closing the door behind him, “you're drunk.” 

“Mmhmm,” John confirmed. “And horny.” He grabbed Brian's hand and shoved it against his jeans so that the other man could feel how hard he really was. He heard Brian gasp under his breath before pulling his hand back and staring at John, mouth slightly open in disbelief and confusion. “John,” he said again, warning in his voice. 

“Love 'ow you say m'name, Bri,” John said, reaching for Brian, wrapping his arms around him. Brian allowed it, but did not return the gesture. “C'mon, Brian, kiss me,” John said, almost pleading. “C'mon...” He leaned forward to kiss Brian again, but Brian gripped his shoulders and held him back.

“John, stop,” he said firmly. “I came over because you said you needed me. Can you tell me what's wrong? Did something happen?” 

“I told you,” John muttered, “'m horny.” 

John saw Brian swallow. “Well,” he said hoarsely, clearly trying to keep up a professional demeanor, “If that's all it is, you wouldn't have called me, of all people. I don't really think there's anything I can do to help you with...that.” 

“'Course there is, Bri. You can let me fuck you, or at least get me off...I c'n do it for you too, y'know...” 

“You don't want...” Brian licked his lips, which only turned John on more. “You're not... I mean-” 

John waved a hand dismissively. “Who cares, Eppy? It's all sex, ain't it? Y'can't tell me ya don' want it...” 

“John,” Brian said, “please, just tell me what's going on. Come on; we should sit down, you're not very steady at the moment-” 

“I'd rather lay down, with you,” John said, moving closer to Brian again. “I'm fucking lonely, Eppy. I'm lonely an' horny an' I want you.” With that, John attached his lips sloppily to Brian's throat and began to suck on it. 

“What are you doing?” Brian asked shakily, his hands held up, carefully not touching John, but also not pushing him away this time. 

“'m kissin' yer neck, Eppy,” John mumbled. “'s it feel like 'm doin'?” 

“John, this isn't...you shouldn't...” 

John laughed against Brian's neck. “Don't care.” He pulled back and looked Brian in the eyes again, and...yes, he could definitely see a spark of arousal there. Brian was reserved, controlled, but he was also a relatively young and (presumably, anyway) correspondingly horny man who'd had a not-so-hidden crush on John for ages. John was a person who knew how to make people want him, and with Brian, he knew it wouldn't be difficult. 

John slid his hands down to Brian's hips and pulled him closer. Brian hissed and closed his eyes as their crotches made contact, and, as John actually felt Brian's cock harden against his own, he knew he'd won. “That's it, Bri,” he said softly, encouragingly. “C'mon, darlin', give us a kiss.” 

He heard Brian moan softly. “I-” 

“Please, Bri?” John begged. “I'm dyin' for a kiss. Lemme kiss you.” 

Brian looked torn, his eyes falling to John's lips. John could see the want in them, clear and obvious now, and he decided that was enough. He kissed Brian hard, tongue stroking over his lips, and Brian's mouth yielded to him, opening with a louder, more drawn-out moan that seemed ripped from his throat. John felt the last thread of Brian's resistance snap as he moved his hands up the other man's back and pushed his fingers through his hair, holding him so close that their bodies were flush together, kissing him with abandon, biting at his lips. 

“John,” Brian breathed against John's mouth. “Wait a moment. I...” he pulled back, then cupped John's face in his hands, leaned in, and gave him a long, soft kiss. “If we're going to do this,” he almost whispered, stroking John's cheeks with his thumbs, “we have to...I can't just...I need...” 

Understanding, John kissed him again, more gently this time. His cock was throbbing and he was desperate to get off, but if Brian wanted slow and soft, he could do that, at least for a little while. He touched Brian's mouth with his own again, parting his lips, inviting Brian to slip his tongue inside, which he did after a moment. They kissed sweetly and carefully, John moving his hands over Brian's chest as Brian gripped his neck. It was rather nice, John had to admit, especially since it was similar to the way he liked to imagine Paul kissing him sometimes, when he was feeling particularly vulnerable and maudlin. 

Slowly, John slipped his hands up Brian's arms and pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders. Brian let him, then broke their kiss to take the jacket the rest of the way off and loosen his tie. Together, they made their way to John's bedroom, John clumsily pulling his own shirt off as they went. Brian's tie ended up next to it on the floor. 

John could barely see the buttons on Brian's dress shirt, never mind undo them, so he busied himself with his socks and trousers while Brian removed his shirt himself.   
Brian's chest, when John touched it, was smooth and lovely, and he rushed to get Brian's trousers off as well, desperate for some friction on his cock. 

When he finally had Brian's naked body moving over his, John sighed and wrapped his arms around him, then began thrusting against him, too drunk and randy to actually be concerned with making it last. Brian, however, seemed to have other ideas. “John,” he said softly, looking into John's eyes, “let me.” 

John thought, _let you what?_ , but the answer became clear when Brian kissed his way down John's body and finally wrapped his mouth around his dick. John very nearly screamed and gripped the sheets with his hands as Brian's warm mouth sucked him off, tonguing the tip of his cock and swallowing gently around John's length. Squeezing his eyes shut, getting lost in the sensation, John pictured Paul's face, Paul's eyes, Paul's hands and lips. It didn't take long before he came in Brian's mouth, groaning loudly. 

Brian sat up, and John saw him wipe his mouth on his wrist before he dove for John's lips again, kissing him hard and so passionately that John felt almost guilty when he began to picture Paul again, with his musician's fingers and his beautiful face, shoving his tongue into John's mouth after he'd just finished sucking John's cock. 

Almost frantically, John reached for Brian's dick and closed his fingers around it, began to pump it slowly, then faster and faster. Brian moaned and leaned his head on John's shoulder, and John dimly felt the other man's fingernails digging into his skin. He kept fisting Brian's cock until he felt Brian spill over his hand, heard his voice moaning John's name. 

They sat there, wrapped up in each other, sweat and come on both their bodies, before John slid ungracefully onto the bed, panting shallowly and closing his eyes. The orgasm, combined with the drink, had exhausted him.

And he was still terribly lonely. 

Dimly, he registered Brian getting up and leaving the room. John sank into himself, his mind full of Paul, his heart thumping a dull, painful rhythm. His head was spinning, his chest tight, his skin cold. 

He could feel sleep pulling at him, and it was actually rather blissful, because in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, he could almost convince himself that it really had been Paul kissing him, caressing him, sucking him off...

He heard, as if from far away, Brian coming back into the room, felt him get into bed with John and take him into his arms. “Goodnight, John,” came the soft whisper.   
A smile formed on John's lips. “G'night, Paul,” he said quietly. “Love you.”

* * *

 

The tears came unbidden, early in the morning. Brian tried not to let them fall, but they wouldn't stay back. 

He'd seen the way John looked at Paul; had heard the pain in John's voice sometimes when he spoke to him. He'd suspected. After all, if there was one thing Brian Epstein knew, it was what unrequited love looked like. He saw it in the mirror every day, felt it deep in his chest every time he looked at John Lennon. But suspecting something isn't the same as having it confirmed, and he could have sworn he'd felt his heart fracture when John had whispered Paul's name instead of Brian's before falling asleep. 

Brian felt his tears soak into the pillow under his head. He couldn't bring himself to turn and look at John. He'd wanted the man so badly for so long; craved him, almost, and now he'd finally made it to bed with him, only to find out that what he really wanted was someone else. Someone Brian could never be. 

Brian bit his lip, trying not to sob. He felt incredibly foolish for having let John use him after so little protest, but he simply hadn't been able to resist. He closed his eyes and remembered the soft, sweet touch of John's lips on his own, remembered the taste of John's arousal, the glorious sound he made when he came. Chances weren't good that he'd ever get to experience any of those things again, and he wanted to remember exactly how each of them had felt. 

He couldn't face waking up next to John, so he left John's flat shortly before sunrise, his clothes rumpled from having been taken off and carelessly tossed onto the floor, his hair uncombed. He felt wrung out, as if all the emotions had been squeezed out of him, leaving only a hollow, empty feeling and a sense of acute disappointment. 

He was glad that the streets were empty as he drove home. It made it easier to come to terms with the renewed loneliness.

* * *

 

When John woke up, Brian was gone. John couldn't blame him. 

He got up, his movements stiff and painful. He took a piss, put the kettle on, popped a couple of pills for his throbbing headache. As he sat at the table in the kitchen, sipping his hot tea and struggling not to cry, he thought about Paul again. He wondered what he was doing, what he was feeling, whether he was with anyone. 

Because, he reflected with a touch of bitterness, apparently, in the end, it was all about Paul.


End file.
